


the dream is over.

by isabeelisaneel



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Blue Lions End Cutscene, Canon Rewrite, Cutscene, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Enbarr, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gen, Regret, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), ik this is tagged major character death but it's all canon for azure moon so don't worry, no beta we die like Glenn, unfulfilled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeelisaneel/pseuds/isabeelisaneel
Summary: Based off of the ending cut scene in the Blue Lions route.Or, dimitri kills edelgard.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	the dream is over.

**Author's Note:**

> Roses are red  
> so is edelgard's dress  
> i hope this writing  
> isn't a hot mess
> 
> also i forgot to say this earlier but the title comes from one of the fe3h osts. really pretty song if i do say so myself  
> check it out
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykmWTDHNqQc

How far you’ve traveled on this journey. When you were struggling down the long road, you had been so sure of where you were going, what you needed to do. Now, the destination is in sight, but you’re no longer sure if what you have to do to get there is worth it.

Her form is hunched over, her limbs out of proportion, struggling to support herself. Dimitri stands above her, muscles painfully tense, but not from the grueling battle. His gauntlets tightening around his lance in a deathly strong grip. In that delicate larkspur iris, his warring emotions and his torn conscience are ever so visible. He tightens his hand around his lance in a weak attempt to stop them trembling.

Her hegemon husk is a beautifully warped reminder of death, how the concept of it can corrupt a mind and drive it to the brink of insanity. The coal-black limbs tangle and bend at nauseating angles. The hide has begun to rip, leaving a tattered covering, not different in appearance to that of a dark, sticky spider web. 

The husk starts vaporizing, bits of residue dissolving into the atmosphere. A musty smell permeates the air. Once the husk has disappeared, it leaves a figure much smaller, much more... human. All too human. Red satin cascades down her figure to the floor as she kneels, head downcast. Beautiful ash-white locks of hair hang down and frame her small face.

Her pale lashes flutter open, and the sight of her lilac eyes is a much more familiar sight than you are comfortable with. She doesn't dare look up, focusing her eyes on the crimson carpet beneath her.

As the figure hulking over her glimpses the deep lavender eyes under her crown, his demeanor softens with compassion and forgiveness. 

Your body tenses up, and you put your hand on your sword’s handle, should she take advantage of his mercy. You are ready to pounce at the slightest provocation, your stance stiff and muscles wound up.

His expression is something you cannot quite place, filled with tenderness, yet afraid to act. Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out his gloved hand to her.

"El..."

She finally raises her gaze to meet his own, and you tighten your grip on your sword, lest the worst happen. You furrow your eyebrows, calculating the best move to play. You know as well as he does that his astounding empathy, his compassion, has always been his greatest weakness. 

The smallest of smiles graces her lips, her face seeming almost… peaceful. You hear her exhale softly, like a sigh of resignation, of acceptance. 

Your mint green eyes widen with surprise as you see a glint of metal between the vermilion ruffles of linen shrouding her form.

Before you even have time to react, the steel dagger is out of the empress’s hand and hurtling towards Dimitri. 

Everything seems to move in slow motion. 

The blade cuts a path through the air, heading straight for his chest. In his eyes you see a sliver of an emotion you rarely see on his face: fear. His lips slightly parted in astonishment, you can almost see the thoughts racing through his head, reflexes confused.

In the blink of an eye, the dagger is deep in his shoulder, and his glowing lance is buried inside of the empress’s torso.

With soft, strained gasp, he pulls his lance out of where it was lodged inside of her chest. The crimson tapestry is now stained redder with blood of the empress pooling around her body. 

All tenderness that had been on his face disappeared, leaving only a war-hardened, disdainful mask.

She’s gone. Forever. She’s never returning, never again walking the stone hallways of Garreg Mach Monastery with that dreamy expression on her face. Never again facing the archbishop with a light in her eyes, a determination unmatched, a strength once undefeated.

And your heart fills with a bittersweet regret, an emotion not unfamiliar, but sharp enough to stab. It floods over you in a wave of sorrow, a sensation like a silver sword plunged into your chest. You feel like you are the one collapsed on the floor, ribbons of red flowing from your soul.

You know in your heart that there was never a happily ever after where no lives would need to be taken. There is nothing that Dimitri had wanted more than a peaceful ending, though, to make amends with her, even in his victory.

As heavily as it weighs on both of your hearts, it has been done. There is no going back now, nothing more to say. And you are… glad. The king has prevailed. It has finally finished. You start to tread towards the throne room door.

You hear a pained grunt as Dimitri pulls out the blade embedded in his shoulder, the one she had hurled at him moments ago. It’s his last connection to her, his last link to the past he so desperately wants to cling on to, but cannot any longer. It clatters to the floor, dripping with vermilion and his foolish hope for reconciliation.

There’s a long silence as he finds his peace.

Then, slowly, you hear his footfall echo in the stone hall, gradually becoming louder as he draws near.

You walk together. He does not speak a word, but the silence between you is deafening. You know there is nothing you could say that can console him.

His hand rests for a moment on the ornate, golden handle of the wooden door, hesitant to take the next step, to face reality.

His eye, filled with regret, turns back to the throne. He turns to go back, not ready yet to leave behind the part of him that longs to be overwhelmed by nostalgia, to sob in remorse. But you know as well as he does that that part of him died with her. It has to have.

Your grip on his wrist is surprisingly strong, even to yourself. You look down as you shake your head slowly. It is no longer the time for sorrow and agony. The only way now is to move forward. 

You unlock the door and sunlight filters in through the opening. You can hear cheerful shouts and melodious tunes from the festivities outside. They are celebrating your triumph. His triumph. 

You hold his hand gently as you step outside into the light together, greeted by a sea of joyful faces.

The war is over.

Victory is yours.

**Author's Note:**

> dear strangers reading this: please comment it makes me happy and fuels what remains of my will to live


End file.
